Coworker
by toestastegood
Summary: [AngelSpike] Doyle was content to look and wish and yearn and want, for the time being. He could clench his fists and remind himself that it wasn’t a good idea to push his boss against the nearest surface and ravish him. [DoyleAngel][Slash]


A/N : Set a day or two after In The Dark, Season One.

Doyle had wanted Angel ever since his first ever vision had given him his first ever glimpse of the vampire. And, let's face it, what wasn't there to want? Angel was…well, Doyle hated to use the word 'gorgeous' – it made him sound like one of the preppy teenage girls he used to teach – but it seemed like the most appropriate word he could think of.

There was something amazingly _intense_ about Angel, Doyle had known that since the second Angel walked into his apartment and found Doyle waiting for him. Something that left him breathless and confused just by being around his boss. It was hell trying to concentrate on the research he was occasionally required to do; his eyes would automatically travel towards Angel, entranced by the concentration in his face, the bizarre blend of urgency and serenity in his eyes.

Of course, during one of the blinding headaches that disguise themselves as visions, Doyle sometimes wondered if it was worth it. Sure, in return for a bunch of mind-splitting headaches, he got a steady job and a way to pay the rent, as well as a guy who would happily fend off all the various loan-sharks – not to mention demons – for him, but sometimes the pain made him wonder if he might be better off getting the shit kicked out of him instead.

When he opened his eyes after every vision, Angel was always there, painfully close. Sometimes, if Doyle had fallen when the premonition took hold, Angel would still be holding him up from the ground when he came round, and the half-demon wondered whether Angel would object if he didn't move for a while. Lying in Angel's arms was definitely something Doyle could get used to.

Another thing that made the visions not-quite-so-terrible was the concerned look that would stay in Angel's eyes for a long while after the pain in his head had faded. Now, it might not seem great for a guy to be getting off on someone else's pain, but Doyle loved to think that it was _him_ who had invoked that reaction in Angel. Sure, Angel would probably have been just as worried if it was Cordy thrashing around like a lunatic, but it was a nice thought.

'course, it all came back to Cordelia, did it? His beautiful Princess. His beautiful, unavailable, and uninterested Princess. Trust his luck to be fighting the good fight with the two most beautiful people he'd ever met. The Powers really didn't want to make this easy on him, did they? How on earth was he supposed to concentrate on saving his skin when Angel was just a few metres away, doing that 'action hero' thing he did so well.

Don't get him wrong; Cordelia was one hell of a stunner. But she viewed herself as far above him, which was probably true. And just how he wanted it to be; that way, he could lust after the ice-queen without ever having a chance in hell with her. And that, that was the trouble with his lusting after Angel. Because, if he tried something, _anything_, with Angel, the vampire would probably let him.

And it would hurt, it would hurt so badly to know that Angel wasn't kissing _him_, he was kissing the nearest warm body who showed an interest. And, knowing that when Angel's eyes were closed he was imagining a certain blonde slayer, that would make the most intense vision seem like nothing more than an annoyance.

So, Doyle was content to look and wish and yearn and want, for the time being. It was hard to keep that resolve a huge deal of the time, but he could. He could clench his fists and remind himself that it _wasn't_ a good idea to push his boss against the nearest surface and _ravish_ him.

Still, it was extremely hard to remember this resolution at certain times. One of those certain times was when he'd watched Angel and Spike fighting. Alright, sure, maybe he should have been slightly more focused on the life or death situation in front of him, but _Jesus fucking Christ_ that pair were more than just hot together. They were practically smouldering away to themselves.

He'd been glad that Queen C hadn't been around to see that fight; she'd have probably had an aneurysm. He, on the other hand, found his mouth dry just at the sight of the two vampires getting sweaty together. He'd never seen anyone fight like that, but that wasn't what made him breathless…he wasn't exactly the kind of guy that was turned on by kung-fu moves.

The way that whenever Spike had Angel backed into a corner, the younger vampire would steal a kiss, or a grope, before jumping backwards and beginning the fight again with a cocky grin was what froze Doyle to the spot. As did the mix of enjoyment and anger on Angel's face. The fight was still unbelievably fast and brutal, but Doyle got the feeling that Angel was _allowing_ Spike to back him into corners.

Doyle let out a silent breath, reminding himself than even a half-demon needed to breathe. As Angel's colleague, he technically should have jumped in there, all guns blazing, but he doubted whether Angel would appreciate the help. Especially considering the fact that Spike had him pinned against the wall, tongue weaving a trail around Angel's jaw line. Angel looked defenceless in a way Doyle had never seen before; he was used to the brooding warrior who looked like he could kill a demon with just a glare.

"Spike…" Angel's voice was quiet, which showed that though he thought that he should try to stop what was going on, he really didn't want to. Frankly, Doyle couldn't blame him; whatever it was that Spike was doing now; it looked heavenly. Spike lifted his head from Angel's neck, one eyebrow raised, before pressing his lips to Angel's in a crushing kiss.

Doyle noticed how casually Spike had pinned Angel's arms above him, and marvelled – not for the first time – at just how strong vampires could be. Pinning Angel was probably not an easy thin, though the fact that Angel appeared to be thoroughly enjoying being pinned probably helped matters a fair amount. _Jesus, don't they need to come up for air?_ Doyle immediately answered that question for himself; vampires.

One of Spike's hands stopped clamping Angel's to the wall, and slid down the other vampire's body, before stopped at the waist-band of Angel's black trousers. Spike licked his lips, a gesture almost immediately copied by Doyle. Doyle's mind kept telling him to jump in there, to act like he hadn't seen what was going on and to try to stake the bastard. Standing here, watching this, felt wrong in the worst possible way.

"Spike." The name hissed out between Angel's teeth, almost like a swear word. _There's the Angel I know._ Whatever it was that made Angel, Angel, had returned. Who knew what had been happening in that pretty little head of his, but Angel was back. There was a flicker behind those innocent brown eyes, and that was all the warning Spike received before a fist was thrown into his stomach, followed almost immediately with a kick to the chest. Doyle wasn't sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved about this latest turn of events.

Spike looked almost as confused as Doyle did, when Angel slammed him hard up against the nearest surface – surprisingly enough, a wall, which wasn't actually surprising at all considering the fact that they were in an alleyway and there were three different walls to choose from – and pressed hard against him. Doyle was still trying to figure out what that meant when a loud moan commanded his attention.

Doyle had frequently wished he was another person. When his marriage with Harry had ended – and, let's face facts, it was more to do with his sexuality than with his demon side – he'd wanted to be anyone apart from himself, so that he wouldn't need to be on the receiving end of the glares she'd shot his way. When he got beaten up during his multiple fights, he wished that he was someone with a lot more strength than he possessed. When demons came sniffing around his flat, looking for money, he wished he was someone a whole lot richer. But he'd never truly wanted to be anyone specific, until that moment.

He'd have given all of his possessions – though, saying that, there wasn't really a lot to give, and most of it was already owed to someone or other – just to be Spike for those few seconds. Just to be that close to Angel, to have those dark eyes staring at _him_, filled with lust and a hundred indescribable emotions he'd never be able to identify. One taste of Angel's mouth had to be worth the world, didn't it?

He wondered how Angel's hands would feel, smoothed over his skin like they were over Spike's. Under his shirt, touching his skin. Doyle thought they'd be rough, considering all the weapons he handled, and Angel didn't really seem like the type to moisturise, unless Cordelia was having more of an affect on him than Doyle had realised.

There was a groan – Doyle would have to say it was more a whimper than anything else – when Angel pulled back from the kiss, and Doyle felt a stab of sympathy for Spike, a feeling that he quickly brushed away. The vampire was evil, almost as bad as Angelus in his glory days. But the look on Spike's face had been so confused, lost, hurt that Doyle couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy.

"Why are you here, Spike?" Angel sounded disgusted, glaring down at Spike with even more fierce intensity than usual. Doyle had seen Angel hand out his fair share of hateful looks, but this one seemed to have been reserved especially for a certain bleached blonde. "Is it the ring? Is that what you're after?" Doyle couldn't help the smile on his face, despite the fact that Angel looked ready to snap Spike's neck if he got the wrong answer.

Honestly, what _was_ stored in Angel's head? Wood? It was obvious to anyone in a mile radius of the alleyway that the Gem of Amarra was _not_ the thing on Spike's mind at the moment. The soft moans, and the desperate look in lust-filled eyes were evidence to that. Hell, Spike couldn't even find the words to answer Angel; he just hazily shook his head, and it was fairly clear that he was finding it difficult to have a coherent thought. To which, Doyle could relate. If Angel had been _that_ close to him, he wouldn't have been able to string a sentence together either.

"What is it then, Spike? Angelus? Is that what you want? You think he'll give the ring?" There was a pause, and even Angel seemed to appreciate that he'd said the wrong thing. Standing a good few metres away, hidden by a dumpster, Doyle could see just how wrong he was. Spike was in _no_ way interested in Angel's soulless half. The loud clunk that resounded when Spike head-butted Angel helped to punctuate that thought.

Doyle winced as Angel's feet were pulled out from under him, causing him to crash to the ground. Angel had bashed his head badly against the hard concrete, and had vamped out for a brief second. Whoa, that was going to hurt in the morning. Along with all the other bruises and cuts that Angel had sustaining during this 'fight', which hadn't even finished yet.

Spike threw a solid punch into Angel's stomach, followed by another, and another, and another, until Doyle was convinced that he wouldn't be able to stop, ever. That Spike could just stayed there, perched on top of Angel's hips, pinning him to the ground, forever. His fist pounding over, and over, into Angel's stomach like he can't stop, because maybe he can't. Maybe Spike's stuck there, and Angel's stuck there, and Doyle's stuck there, and they'll all be stuck there was the rest of forever.

But then Spike paused, the bout of violence over just as soon as it had started. His hands uncurled, and lay peacefully on Angel's shoulders. Or, at least, they would have been peaceful if they hadn't been clamping down with appalling force. Doyle had the feeling that, if it had been him instead of Angel down there, he'd have been screaming out in pain by now. But, Angel wasn't the screaming sort.

"No, peaches, it isn't about that poofter." Spike had somehow managed to calm himself, and to Doyle he sounded almost affectionate. Like an adult indulging in a child's games. But his hands were still gripping tightly onto Angel's shoulders, and his jaw was clenched tightly. Not good; the guy was obviously still mad, and, though Angel could definitely fight him off, Doyle wasn't altogether sure whether he _would_.

Doyle had pretty much given up trying to even persuade himself to move. He was hypnotised, reeled in by the magnetism between the pair. Moving wasn't really an option anymore, that much was all too clear, even to his lust-ridden brain. "Then what is it about, Spike?"

Doyle let out another sigh; when was Angel going to get it through his thick skull that he turned everyone around him into gibbering love-sick morons? That, when people were near that intense glare, all priorities broke down, and various fantasies began to possess their brain. That the main reason that any red-blooded male would have for coming onto him would be the fact that there was nothing anyone could like better than having him between their thighs.

Spike thrust forwards with his hips and began to rock slowly. The indulgent smile was still on his face, which Doyle hoped meant that he wouldn't be having any more fits of rage unless Angel _seriously_ provoked him. Hopefully, Angel would know to keep quiet.

"What it's about, mate," Spike's voice was low and breathy, and one hand had risen to lightly trace over Angel's features. The pace had definitely changed; instead of being impossibly fast and desperate, it seemed like Spike was now simply drinking Angel in as slowly as possible. Savouring the body clamped under him. A pale finger paused over Angel's lips, as Spike let out a dry chuckle, "What it's about is that the only thing I've fucked in the last few months is a ditzy blonde who likes to call me 'Blondie Bear'."

The finger was replaced by a pair of lips, in a kiss that was so chaste it was almost heart-breaking to watch. "I want you, Angel. Need you." He said as he broke away, and Doyle could see him trembling. Jesus, this scene really had taken a turn for the mushy. He wished that he could see Angel's face, see his reaction, but unfortunately he was completely blocked off. "Bloody hell, when I'm not with you my blood screams 'til I am."

Then Angel sat upright, one arm snaking around the small of Spike's back, the other threading its way through bleached blonde hair. And Doyle felt a familiar twinge of love and lust, pure _want_ for him. He wished he was the one sitting snugly on Angel's lap, and hated Spike in that instant because he was. It was Doyle who deserved that honour, Doyle who worked alongside Angel, Doyle who received mind-splitting visions to help with Angel's redemption, Doyle who was the sidekick, the ally, the friend – best friend? – co-worker…Doyle who was _everything_, everything except the one thing he wanted to be. Lover.

But Spike and Angel…they had centuries together. Or, maybe century, singular…Cordy hadn't mentioned how old Spike was. But that didn't matter; what mattered was that they had history together. History Doyle could never hope to understand, history that a part of him didn't even want to understand. It was too deep, too much for him to even comprehend.

"Though, y'know, we _are_ going to have to have a talk about that ring, after…" Spike's voice was muffled by the skin of Angel's neck, but Doyle could still hear the smile in his voice. He sounded as though he knew that there was no way Angel would ever tell him, but at that moment he didn't really care. Doyle shivered, and took a step backwards; it was probably about time for him to disappear, wasn't it? He'd been spying here long enough, and he was beginning to feel more than a little uncomfortable.

He silently crept out of the alleyway, and if either of the vampires heard his soft footsteps, they didn't respond. He took a left, towards his apartment, closing his eyes for a brief second and telling himself that he had to forget this. Not just this scene, but everything. All fantasies he'd ever had involving Angel had to be trashed, and left abandoned in the lonely corner of his mind. No matter how many visions he had, or how many demons they fought together, this was all he was ever going to be. An on-looker. A colleague.

It was about time he got used to that.


End file.
